So long ago...
Just a blur
You held me
Made me laugh
Always a smile
A happy time
I won't forget
Your five pennies
Your wet kisses
Your prickly whiskers
Before death came
To take you
To the graveyard.
I wrote this poem in June of 1989, in memory of my beloved grandfather, Harry Schwimmer. I am now putting it in my journal because it's my mother's birthday. Her name was Pearl, and she passed away in 1967, at the age of 52. "Grandpa Harry" was my mom's father who lived with my grandmother, Helen, in a walk-up tenement in the South Bronx at 940 Kelly Street. He died in his sleep in 1959; I was about five or six years old at the time.
I have fond and priceless memories of sitting in my grandparent's tiny kitchen, which faced a dingy alleyway on the second floor of the four-story building. Whenever I'd visit, Grandpa Harry would hand me five shiny copper pennies, placing them one at a time into my little cupped hands. I'd then take the pennies home with me and put them into a red plastic piggy bank that I had in my bedroom. I loved being able to pick up the piggy bank and shake it to hear the jingling of the coins.
But then Grandpa Harry died suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving a big hole in my heart. I'll never forget him.
D.B.
You held me
Made me laugh
Always a smile
A happy time
I won't forget
Your five pennies
Your wet kisses
Your prickly whiskers
Before death came
To take you
To the graveyard.
I wrote this poem in June of 1989, in memory of my beloved grandfather, Harry Schwimmer. I am now putting it in my journal because it's my mother's birthday. Her name was Pearl, and she passed away in 1967, at the age of 52. "Grandpa Harry" was my mom's father who lived with my grandmother, Helen, in a walk-up tenement in the South Bronx at 940 Kelly Street. He died in his sleep in 1959; I was about five or six years old at the time.
I have fond and priceless memories of sitting in my grandparent's tiny kitchen, which faced a dingy alleyway on the second floor of the four-story building. Whenever I'd visit, Grandpa Harry would hand me five shiny copper pennies, placing them one at a time into my little cupped hands. I'd then take the pennies home with me and put them into a red plastic piggy bank that I had in my bedroom. I loved being able to pick up the piggy bank and shake it to hear the jingling of the coins.
But then Grandpa Harry died suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving a big hole in my heart. I'll never forget him.
D.B.
